Two Loves

Chapter 38

Small messings with the time-line. Oh, and a warning: The plot-twists are coming and they don't stop coming.

CYMBELINE

Being at the rock-bottom also has its advantages. Sleeping in late, for example. An increase in cynism. And now that we are both unemployed, Isaac and I can momentarily enjoy our life.

Well, Isaac is technically employed, but seriously, artist is more of a vocation than a profession, and he obviously cannot pull a nail out of a wall with his delicate painter-hands. I get why they call it a fruitless art.

"Give me the pliers" I say, set the roll of paper down and get behind him. Where the picture that once hung on this nail covered the wall, a darker square stretches over the wallpaper. I didn't even recall that the colour was such a vibrant orange – the rest of the walls are bleached out to a soft apricot. Isaac rolls his eyes. He still wants to show that he is the only man in this house.

"I can do this on my own!" he groans and throws his whole weight backwards - only with the result that his hands lose grip of the pliers. He falls on his backside.

"Ow."

I pick the pliers up from the floor. With a few wiggles and a pull, the nail has left the wall.

"See? It's so easy!" I say as I stretch it into his direction like a trophy. My brother pouts and brushes the dust off his trousers.

"I bet it was already loose because I worked on it."

"Yeah, sure."

He stands up and looks critically at the finished work. The orange square and the hole very clearly remind everyone that, not so long ago, a painting of a vase of flowers hung here. It's a little sad to look at it now.

"Not pretty", Isaac says, inspecting the hole in the wall with his aesthetic expertise. "Maybe we can put a lamp in front of it. Or a framed photography."

He doesn't even suggest to paint something new, and it worries me.

Then he shakes his head and turns around again. "Can you help me to remove the frame? Then we can wrap this one."

I know that Isaac must feel a little sting whenever he gives one of his paintings away - especially these dearly beloved ones that he kept in his studio - but he takes it very manly. If showing no feelings is that manly. Them I am the man in this household.

He even whistles while we wrap the canvas in paper and put the address tag on it. Lady Bracknell, who is still smitten with her portrait and, seemingly, doesn't read gossipy news-papers, and was all too happy to purchase a few more paintings for the house she is preparing for her newly-wed granddaughter. Eloise, as we gathered from her lengthy talking, or Alois.

Who knows whether she was talking about the groom or the bride. I am not really in the mood to think about weddings.

As soon as we are done, Isaac looks around the room with the eye of someone who has too much energy. I have no idea where that comes from, my back is already hurting.

But it was definitely right to occupy him with work to get over his heart-ache. In the last days, he has tidied his room, went through his wardrobe, cleaned the whole apartment, cooked dinner and even swept the hallway. He still sleeps in late, but as soon as he is awake, nothing can stop him anymore.

Only drawing is what he leaves unoccupied. And the name Atticus has completely vanished from his vocabulary. I suppose he tries to distract himself and work himself so tired that he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow in the evening.